The First Spring
by Green Queen of Clubs
Summary: A new spring brings a new love! Cliche? Yes, absolutly. But then you throw in a world class archer, a super spy and a corgi, and you get a whole new story!


Clint

The blond man jerked awake as a cold nuzzle was stuck on his cheek. Only years of the habit kept him from throwing Hood down his bed. He was still a bit ashamed of their rocky beginning, when the poor dog became a pretty awesome stuntman in his own right.

He sighed and pushed his hand in the soft fur, dragging the pliant body toward him, cuddling the pet, trying to convince him with caresses to spend a few more moments grasping the last tendrils of sleep.

Finally Hood got fidgety, reminding Clint that he did have a good reason for intruding in his Saturday mornings, in his precious sleep. The blond sighed and scratched the dog's head before releasing him.

The corgi barged out, probably already waiting by the door, willing him to get dressed even faster by irresistible puppy eyes and adorable faces. The little bugger was incredibly effective with them. Clint shook his head, getting up to put some pants on. He didn't need to look at the clock to know his dog had woken him up at the exact same time as any other Saturdays -and Saturdays alone.

8:45, just the right time to get to the park to see him. Clint had been long aware of his dog's evil streak. Don't let the amiable face and innocent tongue sticking fool you. Corgis are manipulative bastards.

Clint would have hoped his pet would have mercy on him. His first weeks at S.H.I.E.L.D. had been taxing and he would have needed to lie down some more, but the little devil had other plans. By the time he got decent, Hood was jumping as high as his ridiculously small paws would let him.

"All right, bastard, all right. We're going."

The dog yipped happily and stilled long enough for Clint to tie a leash to his collar. He ran out, his hind legs slipping comically on the wood floor, before he could get any traction. Clint chuckled and followed him fondly. There would be nothing to change the dog's one tracked mind until they reached the park.

The walk to get there was calm. The crispy early spring weather was agreeable on Clint's face. The sun was shy, occasionally peeking from behind white fluffy clouds.

As much as he appreciated his new life in S.H.I.E.L.D., he kind of missed the days when he had nothing else to do except this, taking long walks with his dog. Nowadays, he barely had the time to take him out in the mornings and the evenings. Luckily he was able to afford a bigger apartment now, or the dog would probably have gone insane.

Hood was used to come and go as he pleased. He had been in the streets when Clint found him, half dead in an alley. He had taken him home and Hood never left. So now Clint had a dog he never knew he wanted, and that apparently immediately identified him as gay, and he wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.

Anyone who would snuggle to him and let him cry in his fur when everything went to crap earned Clint infinite and undying loyalty.

Which was the only reason the archer humored the corgi with his weird habit of early Saturday mornings.

The park wasn't that big, but he was very well maintained, with old trees and various water bodies that attracted many birds Hood enjoyed barking at. And there was Suit Man.

Clint had been around for nearly a year now, and coming to the park for nearly as long, and the man had been regular as a Swiss clock. He only ever came on Saturdays, at 9:15. He was always impeccably dressed; he sat on the same bench, for 45 minutes, reading, before leaving. Every week, every time. Twice, there had been a little girl with him, and Clint absolutely didn't feel a soul crushing jealousy and despair until he realised it was his niece. He absolutely didn't nearly crumbling down because a guy he had never talked to and all but stalked might have a daughter, _a life, _outside of the park. That just wasn't done.

So, every week, Clint went there and looked. He didn't know the guy's name, what he did for a living or anything at all. But he was Hawkeye, and he saw better from a distance.

He looked. He looked. He looked all the time.

Hood had to know something was up.

Shut up, his dog was bright enough for it.

So the corgi dragged him to the park every Saturday, thankfully giving him an excuse for his presence.

When he got to the park, as predicted, Suit Man was reading on his bench, a thick novel in his lap, lips curling in a warm expression. Clint smiled back, not that _he _would know it. The archer settled on the grass, untying Hood, and letting the dog run free for a while. The corgi was too much of an emotional insecure to go too far, and the guards knew it.

Hood would play with the kids who would come near them, but somehow never pushed as far as to go see Suit Man.

Clint lied down on a fresh patch of glass, and closed his eyes, enjoying the peace of the moment. He was always at peace here, even before he got S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protection. Who would think Hawkeye, expert mercenary marksman would spend his Saturday mornings in a _park _with his _corgis_?No one, that's who.

Here's an advice to every man who had to go undercover, get yourself a corgi, you automatically fall in the 'harmless' category.

Finally, he didn't know how much time passed, he might have dozed off at some point, but he felt a weight settle on his stomach. He smiled and captured Hood, who yelped good-naturally. Clint brought the 'struggling' corgi to his face and they lied like this for a moment.

Then Clint sighed and put Hood gently on the ground, the little dog standing proudly as he tied him back on the leash. Clint smiled and shook his head fondly, ruffling the pup's fur. Hood yipped and trotted obediently at his side.

Clint had to say, he should have been more suspicious about his dog's sudden compliance, but seriously, he was just in a too good mood to second guess his pet's behavior.

As it is, he was completely taken by surprise when the bloody devil took off and nearly tripped-you guessed right- Suit Man.

Clint felt his face heat up, and he knew he was as red as a lobster. He cursed silently against his dog and dragged the bastard nearer as he tried to remember what non-socially challenged people did in situations like this one. He smiled awkwardly.

"I'm sorry. He's a bit over excited sometimes."

The man smiled gently, and Clint did his best to keep himself from melting on the ground. He had to look normal. It wouldn't do to act like the ex-carnie/criminal he was. The older man shook his head calmly.

"It's no problem. No harm was done."

Then he proceeded to crouch down, at Hood's level. The dog jumped on the occasion to get petted, and proceeded to attempt climbing in Suit Man's lap, once in a while throwing smug looks at Clint, saying "Look what I have and you don't!" He was lucky Clint loved him that much, or the archer would have some new gloves in a very near future.

However, Suit Man simply smiled, and scratched the dog's fur enthusiastically. Clint wanted to scream. He even liked dogs! It was like someone had fun designing a man who hit exactly every one of Clint's kink, whatever they were. And because he wasn't that lucky, because nothing ever worked his way, the man was bound to be so completely straight it was ridiculous.

Clint looked away, scratching the back of his head, a bit embarrassed and hoping nothing of his train of thought was showing in his face.

Suit Man looked up, still petting Hood, and smiled at Clint, and one small part of the archer's mind registered that the older man's schedule was presently being thrown in the wind, because of him, and that warmed his heart ever so slightly.

"Phil Coulson."

Clint swallowed and surprised himself by offering a scratchy "Clint Barton." Why he gave his real name rather than whatever alias he could think of, he didn't want to think about, especially when there was a flash of _something _in the other man's eyes. It was gone far too quick for Clint to register it.

At last, Ph-Coulson softly pushed Hood, who good naturally went to press himself against Clint's leg, knowing his owner would be sour about this for a while. The older man straightened himself, and smoothed non-existent wrinkles in his suit, and finally offered his hand for Clint to shake.

The archer stretched his in answer, trying not to look overly eager while doing so, and the strength in the handshake did nothing to help him regain his composure.

He let go quickly, and was about to go, face definitely not burning up, when Coulson called again.

"Mister Barton?"

OOOOOOOO

Phil

Phil sighed as he opened his eyes, the sun tearing through his window right into his face. He had been so exhausted yesterday he forgot to close the blinds, as he did pretty every Fridays. You'd think he'd have learned at this point, but his brain apparently simply couldn't compute the necessity to sleep in when he could. Mix the sun with his inability to sleep any later than 8:30, and you obtained one slightly sleep deprived S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

So instead of sleeping in, as any self-respecting governmental agent should do, and did, if his colleague's tales were true, he dedicated his day to relaxation and hobbies. Nothing short of long term deep undercover was considered acceptable excuses to interrupt his day, and he made sure everyone, from Fury to the R&D department was aware of that fact.

Ever since his promotion, a little over a year ago, he wasn't ever sent in the field in itself, supervising operations instead. It meant he never missed one Saturday, much to the benefit of his mental health.

He wasn't sure he wouldn't send Fury to hell if he asked to come in for a third World War, at least before ten. The rest he could do without, but the park, well, he wasn't sure if he could go a week without going.

For _various_ reasons.

Phil got up, and went to start the coffee machine-he always prepared everything the night before, so he didn't need to function before his first coffee-before dressing up. He put on a suit -yes, he did own something else- but there was always the chance to meet coworkers while he was out, and he wasn't sure S.H.I.E.L.D. could survive pictures of him in casual dress wear.

It had nothing to do with him wanting to look good. That would be ridiculous. There was no one he _wanted _to impress, after all.

He took his time to sip his coffee, while eating a small cereal bowl. He was never really hungry at breakfast, but he understood the importance of the first meal of the day. He had to skip it too often to not eat one when he had the time.

At 9 o'clock sharp he was out, taking the familiar fifteen minutes' walk to the small park. He had taken an old book, one of his favorite, not really in the mood for anything new at the moment. Some would say Pride and Prejudice as a woman's book, but it was his mother's favorite, and she would read it to him when he was younger. The novel was to this day his utmost comfort book.

At the park he took his familiar bench, in the back of the place, with enough trees to provide shelter from the admittedly not yet very strong sun, and not crowded like the surroundings of the ponds tended to become.

He had read about a page when a familiar yip made him pause and raise his eyes.

Here _he _came.

He had been coming at the same time as Phil, for about a year, to the agent's both despair and joy.

Joy because he had to be one of the most gorgeous men he ever saw. He was about Phil's height, but with broader shoulders and arms that deserved poems to be written about their magnificence. The arms were stuff of legend. He had short dirty blond hair and blue eyes that bore right in the deepest corner of your soul.

He was exactly Phil's type.

To add assault to injury, he had this adorable little dog, a corgi name Hood, from what Phil could understand. Not that he was listening, because that would be weird and stalkery.

Despair, because, well, they had been at the same place at the same time every week for a year and the other man never looked his way. Phil knew his type had always been way out of his league, that he was just too plain to attract men like this, but to be reminded always hurt a bit.

He would smile and laugh at his dog, with the various kids the little pet always attracted, and Phil would smile back, even though the man wasn't aware he was the target of it. It was just as well.

Today, the agent couldn't help but notice the bags under the blonde's eyes, and his slightly hunched shoulders. The man was tired, even though he wasn't showing it. He had been a bit off the last couple of weeks, not that Phil worried about it.

Still he wondered. Especially when he untied Hood's leash, instead of playing fetch or whatever else the dog liked, he simply lowered himself, lying in a bright patch of grass. He crossed his hand behind his head and closed his eyes.

Phil's hand tightened around his book as he fought against the urge to get up and go lie beside him. He couldn't do that. It would be weird.

He didn't even know the man's name, for God's sake!

Even Elizabeth's familiar problems weren't enough to distract him from this circle of thoughts until he saw the blond and Hood move, and prepare to leave. Phil pondered whether staying a bit longer, to keep up appearances, but decided against it. He wouldn't be able to think about anything else as long as he was in the park.

He was about to walk toward the exit when he felt something charge him behind the knees. There wasn't nearly enough strength in the impact to topple him over, or even make him sway, but he nevertheless turned around to find himself facing Hood, face as adorable as it could be, all soft eyes and tongue sticking. When he looked up, Blond was there, a bit red on the cheekbones, and trying to drag the dog closer to himself. Phil couldn't help the small smile, and hoped it looked polite and not giddy.

"I'm sorry. He's a bit over excited sometimes."

Phil simply smiled a bit wider, the man's voice was definitely something he could get used to. Just scratchy enough to have substance, and he should seriously find something to answer to him. He shook his head softly.

"It's no problem. No harm was done."

There was a pause. Phil wasn't sure what to do, but he knew he didn't want this meeting to end. Not yet. He did the first thing he could think of, crouching down at the corgi's level, petting it. The fur was as soft as it looked, and the corgi did his best to climb in his lap, the short legs not offering enough power to do so. Phil didn't take him, no matter how much he wanted to, mindful of his suit, and the fact it _wasn't his dog._ Hood certainly didn't seem to mind.

When he felt he could speak without blurting something stupid he looked up, and offered calmly "Phil Coulson."

The other man's eyes widened. He seemed almost pleased. Phil decided not to dwell on that. Finally he answered.

"Clint Barton."

Phil felt something clench in his stomach, and he forced his calm persona to remain in place. Of all people in the world, he had to be nursing a crush on Hawkeye. The mercenary assassin S.H.I.E.L.D. just managed to recruit. No wonder the man looked exhausted, he was in training!

Phil knew he was out of his league, but he had no idea he was _that _right. He gently pushed Hood off him, and the small dog went back to his owner, pressing itself to Barton's leg, looking up adoringly. Wherever a criminal got himself such a dog, he clearly found one that loved him. Phil sighed. A gold hearted criminal. Like he needed any reason to have a bigger crush on the man. Nevertheless, Phil straightened himself and offered his hand to shake.

What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to let it go, when he finally managed to make contact, to talk to the blond man, hopefully without making an idiot of himself?

The handshake was firm and full of sinful callouses, and goddamnit, life wasn't fair. Phil couldn't help but be glad this didn't happen a month before, when he would have been forced to take measures against Hawkeye, in the middle of a park, full of children. Not the best press for S.H.I.E.L.D., not the best first impression for him.

Barton went to turn around and go away, and Phil came to a decision. He couldn't just let the other man walk away.

Might as well take a chance now, before Barton heard about and met Agent Coulson.

While he wasn't a giant pain in everyone's ass as far as the archer was concerned.

While he wasn't the one who killed any possibility of any sexual or romantic attraction between him and the rest of the world by ranting about paperwork and protocol.

While he was still only the guy in the park.

He cleared his throat and called out.

"Mister Barton?"

OOOOOOOOO

Hood

_Dark alley. Dark alley. Tired. Too tired_

_Food. Food. Hungry. Need food. Dark alley. Food._

_The bin was too tall for him. Food. Need food. Hungry. _

_Push the bin. Push the bin. Bin falls._

_Too loud. Hurts ears. Too loud._

_Food! Food. Hungry. Good food. _

_Tall man. Mean man. Man screams. Man kicks me._

_Hurts. Hungry. Food. Need food._

_"Fucking mutt! Go to hell!"_

_Kicks again. Hurts. Kicks again. Can't move. _

_Hurts. Hungry. Hurts. Can't move. Food. Can't move. Hungry._

_Dark alley. Food. Hurts. Hungry. Can't move._

_"Hey there little buddy."_

_Man again. Other man. Doesn't know him. Man hurt._

_Growl. Will bite. He sighs._

_"Don't worry, I just want to help."_

_Hands. Doesn't hurt. Hands nice. Hands pet. _

_Man dangerous! _

_Nice hands._

_Hurts. Hurts less._

_Man warm. Not on the ground anymore. Not in alley anymore. Man warm. Nice hands._

_Food. Man warm. Nice Hands._

_Love Nice Hands_.

Hood woke up, curled up as tight as he could on his cushion. He took a moment to enjoy the warmth, before getting up. It was Park Day, and Nice Hands was always harder to wake up on Park Day.

Nice Hands was tired. Hood knew it. Going to the park would help. Nice Hands was happier after the park. Hood trotted until he reached the sleep room. Sometimes, when there was booming in the sky, he would sleep here, but he didn't like it. Nice Hands' cushion was too big and too soft.

Hood pushed the door open with his nose, and quickly climbed on, using the little steps, because the cushion was very high. Another reason why he didn't like it. But Nice Hands was there, and he loved Nice Hands.

Hood nearly tripped twice, because it was too soft, but he made it to Nice Hands. He poked him with his nose. Nice Hands woke easier that way, and Nice Hands always smelled good.

Finally he moved, only to grab Hood and drag him to his face. Hood considered protesting for a moment, but quickly exhaled and went boneless against Nice Hands.

Because Nice Hands was nice, and gentle, and warm, and soft and he would always scratch the right places. Hood loved Nice Hands, and Nice Hands loved him.

Sometimes he remembered a time when Nice Hands was afraid of him, when he woke up. He remembered Nice Hands' guilt, and how he would cuddle for forever afterward.

Hood was happy because now Nice Hands wasn't afraid of him anymore, wasn't smelling guilty anymore, but still cuddled for forever even if he was often away. They would walk, and they would cuddle and Hood was happy.

He wanted Nice Hands to be happy too, so they needed to go to the park. He squirmed, because they were going to be late. Nice Hands sighed, and finally moved.

Hood licked him proudly on the cheek, and ran out to wait by the door. It wouldn't do for Nice Hands to forget where they were going. He waited for a long time, because Nice Hands was soooo slow in the morning, but finally he arrived, and he petted Hood on the head before tying him.

Hood didn't mind being tied. The other dogs hated it, but Hood knew it meant no one could take Nice Hands away. He was tied with Hood.

It was warm outside. There was no snow. Hood was sad. Snow made everything soft. Hood was also happy. No snow meant they stayed at the park longer.

He liked the park. The park had squirrels, and dogs and _kids. _Hood liked kids.

When they arrived at the park, Paper and Ink was there, as usual, at the same place as always. Hood wanted to go see him, because the man smelled nice and gentle, and he liked Nice Hands and Nice Hands liked him, but Nice Hands didn't want to go to Paper and Ink.

Hood didn't know why. He always went to see people he liked. Nice Hands was weird sometimes, but Hood loved him so he stayed away from Paper and Ink, no matter how nice he smelled. He smelled like the 'books'-Nice Hands said there were called this-beside Hood's cushion. Hood loved the smell of 'books'.

Nice Hands lied down in the grass, because he was tired and the grass was cool and nice and Hood would have gone with him, but then there were _kids. _Hood liked kids and only ever saw them at the park.

There was Peanut Butter, and Cotton Candy, Fish and Fish-who looked and smelled the same-Weird Thing Hood Never Smelled Before and his favorite, Strawberry Jam.

He played with them, but never too far from Nice Hands, because Nice Hands could leave, or someone could take him, and Hood wasn't tied to him.

After forever, Hood got tired, so he licked Strawberry Jam on the cheek and went to see how Nice Hands was doing. He climbed on his chest and sat there until he was noticed. Nice Hands captured him and hugged him, and Hoods yipped happily because he loved Nice Hands and Nice Hands loved him.

Then Nice Hands tied him again and Hood wasn't worried anymore. Just as they started to walk, Paper and Ink stood, and Hood really couldn't help it because Paper and Ink smelled nice.

He charged him. He smelled even better from up close. Hood pressed himself to the leg. He could smell Nice Hands' embarrassment, and wondered why it was there. Paper and Ink seemed happy after all. Suddenly, Paper and Ink crouched and petted him.

Hood tried to get closer to him, because his hands were almost as nice as Nice Hands'. Almost, because Nice Hands was always the best, but it was good, and Nice Hands was happy, under the shyness and the awkwardness. Paper and Ink was happy too. Hood was happy because he did well.

They were talking, but Hood didn't listen. It wasn't really important, until Paper and Ink got surprised, and Hood was forced to get down. He went right to Nice Hands, because he was still uncomfortable, and Hood didn't want that.

Then they shook hands, and Hood wondered why they never talked before if there was that much attraction between them. Nice Hands was weird sometimes. Maybe Paper and Ink was the same.

Suddenly, they were leaving, and Hood smelled disappointment on Nice Hands, and it wasn't right. Nice Hands was supposed to be happy after Park Day! Then Paper and Ink spoke again and they both turned.

"Mister Barton?"

OOOOOOO

Everyone

Phil's heart leapt as Barton turned around, eyes careful.

Clint's heart leapt as Coulson called him again. Maybe something would happen.

Hood's heart leapt as he smelled sweet hope from Nice Hands and Paper and Ink.

Phil cleared his throat, hoping to appear smooth and classy. "Are you free tonight?"

Clint felt his face move without his permission, as a large smile took over his face.

"I am, sir."

Hood had no idea what was going on, but it seemed good.

Phil couldn't help, not that he wanted to, but answer to Barton's glowing beam. "There is this little restaurant about two streets from here, the Soprano, from which I heard a lot of good. Would you be interested in trying it with me?"

Clint did his best to be as cool and smooth as Coulson-and probably failed- as he answered.

"The Soprano? Sounds good. Seven sounds good?" Coulson's answering nod and smile was the best thing he had ever seen in his life. Then he went, without any further interruption.

Phil did his best to calm his racing heart, all the while frantically tearing through his wardrobe, wondering if he had anything appropriate to wear.

Clint was doing the same.

Hood still had no idea what was going on, but anything that got Nice Hands happy enough to carry him all the way home was a good thing.

He knew Nice Hands should have talked to Paper and Ink sooner.

**A/N: **

**Fan art for this fic can be found on my blog!**

** post/45708888176/ clint-and-phils-first-meeting-because-corgis-are**

**So this is going to be a part of four fics, which will be taking place in the four seasons of the first four years of Clint and Phil's relationship. This is the spring from the first year, so the next will be summer from the second year.**


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